


orange

by emmyeccentric



Series: electric colors [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Synesthesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-19 23:51:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11908824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmyeccentric/pseuds/emmyeccentric
Summary: After so long in isolation, after fear of herself and her future, the comfort of a warm body as she sleeps is welcomed.or, the color of ends and beginnings, the smell of coffee with cream, and the feeling of wool and fire warming your skin.





	orange

**Author's Note:**

> these are short but life is crazy lol.
> 
> for the second prompt at electric-couple.

She stirs in the early morning, when the Sun first forgoes its shroud to meet with Duomo's copper façade. The city begins to wake in the window beyond his still frame.

Watching him sleep always stuns her, although the shock lessens infinitesimally each morning. Her intimate knowledge of the human psyche has taught her time and time again, that no, eyes say nothing about the soul, if there is such a thing, but what difference it makes when they are closed. The monster becomes a man, and not one who thrives on blood, but one of peace. He softens in the dawn like this, when the barrier between them is not one between physician and patient, instead reduced to a narrow gap of white cotton.

He looks so softened that she can't resist the urge to touch him. Her fingers gently reach out to graze his cheek and he startles almost imperceptibly, then nuzzles (The Chesapeake Ripper, _nuzzling_ , how the world is so flipped across the Atlantic) her palm. His lips lightly touch each one of her fingers. She should pull away. She should have slipped through his grasp long ago. That was her plan all along, before she got comfortable here, before she developed more than a fondness of the games he plays. His mouth moves to her palm and she sighs. The light from the city begins to trickle in, and the cathedral begins to shimmer like the Morning Star.

Solid arms wrap around her frame and pull her close. After so long in isolation, after fear of herself and her future, the comfort of a warm body as she sleeps is welcomed. But it requires an enormous amount of trust that she is more than willing to give, which bears a whole new type of fear that emanates from her core. The fear sizzles out just as quickly as it sparks as he runs two fingers over her, enough to tease and preview but not enough to generate the friction he knows she needs. His mouth travels up her neck to her lips, where he nips at her bottom lip and she wants to cry. She gives in. She has every time so far. She hasn't been disappointed once, if only slightly with herself.

His hands thread through her hair, using it as leverage. Never pulling, he never pulls unless she asks (she has). He has dug and butchered and destroyed, but this is always gentle. Would he do the same with Will Graham? Would he hold him like he was precious too, or would it just be a continuation of the hurt that exists between them?

His mouth is migrating to her breasts now, and she grinds her hips against his, urging him back to where he was before. He's not wearing his cologne, and she smells blood orange and black pepper soap mixed with something that is distinctly him. She likes it; she thought beasts were meant to smell musky and heavy and cloying. He is inviting.

He takes a nipple in between his lips and she whimpers as he lightly flicks his tongue across the coral-colored peak. She tosses a leg over his hips and she can feel him. She works herself over where he's hard, hitting her clit against the ridge of his cock. The damp spot of fabric is not enough and his pajama pants are dragged down desperately. Two fingers run over her wetness and she kisses him this time, lightly and carefully, as he would. His tongue runs across the seam of her lips, and she lets him in. Fingers are working quickly and deftly under her night gown, and heat begins to radiate from her belly.

“Turn around,” he whispers into her shoulder, burning up the silence.

“No,” she breathes, “I want to watch the sunrise.” He stills for a moment, then helps her hoist herself over his frame and sink down onto him.

Why is she like this? Why has she done this?

Time and time again, pleasure overtakes fear and questions.

She watches the sun emerge and daylight spill just to make sure the world is still turning.

“I’m glad we’re in Florence. It’s beautiful,” she pants, underscored by whimpers taking on a very distinct edge. He sits up, holding her cheek in his palm, as she turns to look out the window once more. She coils and emanates like the rays painting the city.

She collapses back into the cocoon of their sheets and somehow it feels like home.

Soon after, he kisses her cheek and pulls away. “I’ll go make us some breakfast.”

“Stay. Lie with me.”

She rests her head on his chest and is still surprised to hear a human heartbeat.


End file.
